


Poetic Reasons

by Hazel_Inle



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dopheld is a fluff buff, Erotic Poetry, Love Poems, M/M, Pining, Secret Admirer, Thanisson is not a poetry lover, and Hux is hopeless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Inle/pseuds/Hazel_Inle
Summary: Lieutenant Mitaka from the Bridge has been receiving love poems from an anonymous secret admirer. While each warms his heart more than the last, questions fill his mind:
"Who sent them?""Why were they sent?""Why were they sent to him?"
And most importantly, "Did they wish to be found?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who had a part in writing this!
> 
> Festering Silence your art never fails to make me smile and gush! it absolutely takes my breath away and I cannot thank you enough for the art you graced for this fic! :D
> 
> Jakathine, you have a wonderful way of words! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you writing the Erotic poem, and the laughs we got out of it! Honestly, you are wonderful and I cannot thank you enough for being my beta reader for my works and helping me along with the NSFW content!

_How cruel it is to be myself onboard?_

_How painful my soul cries for my relief!_

_These soft feelings, I find, pull me toward_

_But one who has stolen my heart: The Thief!_

_This torture I face plays a twofold part:_

_I am ravished by instant uncanny bliss,_

_But with agony, I am torn apart._

_What is my relief!? An embrace? A kiss?_

_No, I require a more solid reprieve:_

_An agreement, a pledge, a pact, a vow._

_Do I dare offer my life or else grieve?_

_I long for him to give me love, but how?_

_I am not worthy of his perfect love!_

_So here I weep alone to the stars above!_

 

Brown doe eyes scoured over the slip of paper one more time to be sure that he had read it right. He had read the words over and over until he was sure he had them all memorized, stanza by stanza and word for word.

It had been almost a month since he had started receiving these notes of poetry, their sender completely unknown. He usually got one most every day, each wedged into the wiring of his console where one could only find it if someone was looking for it.

The first time he happened upon the secret note, it was an accident.

He had been receiving an error on his console when he requested information on the third set of cannons on the starboard side, and thus resolved to find the source of the problem. He always made an effort to find the solution on his own before involving a technician needlessly. He had knelt down and opened the panel in his console to search for connection issues, when he saw the small paper wedged into the wires. This no doubt was the source of the problem, and he quickly snatched it up and replaced the panel.

There came a thousand questions with the paper that varied from how it got there to why it was even there, when he was distracted by the words on the sheet.

_I compare my love, to the endless galaxy - Because it’s equal_

A blush came instantly to his features upon reading the spiky, almost unpracticed hand, and the paper was quickly shoved into his pocket as though the paper might read itself out loud for all the bridge to hear if it was out in the open a moment longer. The entire shift, he would nervously take out the paper when no one was watching and would sneak a read in, trying to make sense of it all.

_Who wrote it?_

_Why was it stuffed into his console?_

_Was he meant to find it?_

_Did they mean it? Did they actually love him?_

He could think of no candidates. Perhaps his friend sent it to him as a joke? No, Thanisson wouldn’t do that. He is far too upfront about what he wants. Besides, his creativity was equivalent to that of a brick; blunt, harsh, and more often than not sharp in his words. Sarcasm was prevalent.

Sweet poetry? That was not in his ability.

He ended up putting it under his cot pillow for safekeeping, and constantly took it out to inspect it that night.

He was shocked the next day when he saw that he was having similar issues with his console, and found the source to be the same. A note was wedged into the wiring.

 

_How long shall I watch your perfection with longing?_

_How long shall I see?_

_How long shall I yearn for those fingers to lace with my own?_

_How long shall I have hands?_

_How long will I want you to be mine?_

_How long will my heart beat?_

_How long will I write these words to woo you?_

_How long will I be able to hold a pen?_

 

Sweet, once more, with an edge of sarcasm. But still no name to go with it. He once more shoved it into his pocket, a smile threatening to surface.

The next day, another poem. Two days later, another. And so on.

Some were better than others. One in particular stood out to be rather rushed. Content wise, it was fine, but the handwriting was messier than usual. It was as though the person writing it had little time to work on it, but still wanted to get one in.

 

**_M_ ** _y one and only,_

**_I_ ** _t only seems clear_

**_T_ ** _o me in every way,_

**_A_ ** _dmiration will never be enough,_

**_K_ ** _nowing you are within my reach, but_

**_A_ ** _lways just out of it._

 

He saw how the first letters of each line spelt his last name, though he had to decipher some words later because the writing was smudged in some places. Regardless, it warmed his heart all the same.

The only poem that gave away anything about him was the one that was…well, to put it plainly, it was _erotic_.

Oddly it was also the one that was the most well laid out and full of euphemisms. He practically squeaked in horror as he read a few lines on the bridge before hiding it desperately in his pocket, a blush overtaking his entire face. It was so prevalent, that his superior officer asked him if he was unwell, and insisted he take the shift off.

When he was alone in his quarters, he began to read in earnest.

 

_Oh, the thought of you brings both_

_Smile and want of bitterness to my lips,_

_a bitterness which I crave and_

_am ashamed of craving all at once._

_I long for the sweet taste of you,_

_if even for a moment_

_In some quiet place known to just us._

 

_But we are two entities, living lives parallel_

_Yet desperately wishing they would intersect._

_To feel your pulse beneath my hands in a way_

_Which you would only allow me to feel._

_A heat wells up within me at the thought of you_

_Burning me up like a star and_

_Making my desires tumble into a black hole._

 

_The mere thought of your lips against mine_

_Has made me realize I have been like a lonely nonakara_

_Having not yet found their match._

_Who upon seeing the one finally, after all this time,_

_Can feel the rush of what it truly means_

_Of being entirely, utterly captivated, and_

_Perhaps a little hopeful._

 

“Oh Stars...” Mitaka had breathed out in shock, feeling himself growing aroused and his body catching up with him. _“Bitterness to my lips” … “pulse beneath my hands” … “a heat wells up within me” … “feel the rush” …_ every one of these meant something far _far_ more erogenous.

However, a question burned in his mind.

_What actually_ is _a nonakara?_

Before he got carried away with himself, he researched the term on his datapad. Was it an amorous thing? An animal or person wishing for love?

The research channel page loaded. It showed only one result. His arousal vanished instantly.

_“A snake-like creature that lives in swamps and lakes. Exudes slime to slow down occasional prey and (sexual) exchanges in order to mate.”_

_Exchanges_ slime _to_ mate _…_

The picture supplied for him showed a slimy and slippery cylinder with clawed arms and nasty looking teeth on one end, almost like an oversized leech.

_To put_ that _into an erotic poem!?_

After some time to think about the absurdity, he found it actually cute rather than actually disgusting. Whomever was trying to grab his attention with this, it was obvious they were using the best of their ability, even though the reaction may not be what was intended. Furthermore, with the line “ _living lives parallel”_ begged Mitaka to ask the question of just _how_ parallel their lives were.

He stored it away with the others, marking it as one of his favorites because of its partial hilarity. Admitting, it honed a certain charm that he could not deny.

And it didn’t stop him from “feeling his own rush”.

It went on like this for almost a month, when he received this particular sonnet. It was the first time that he ever attempted rhyme, and as such, was more literal. It seemed that this person was better off writing poetry that had euphemisms, rather than holding a rhyme scheme. He did not seem capable of doing both. Nevertheless, he loved it all the same.

“Phel.”

“Yes?” Mitaka looked up from the note and returned it to his pocket, facing his friend, Thanisson. They were in the lounge for their bi-weekly meetup, a steady affair that the friends came up with to keep contact in their busy schedules. Everyone found time eventually to relax in the officer’s lounge every once in a while. Even General Hux was present, drinking from two glasses (a golden drink in one and water in the other) while no doubt going over reports on his datapad.

Thanisson’s eyes went to Mitaka’s pocket.

“Is it another one of those poems?”  he asked. Mitaka nodded. He had told Thanisson about them when he dismissed the idea entirely that his friend was sending them as a joke. The reaction was a mixture of shock and perhaps teasing.

“A sonnet.”

“Does it _actually_ rhyme like it’s supposed to?” Thanisson mocked, sitting beside him.

“Arc, you couldn’t write poetry even if Kylo Ren’s lightsaber was to your neck,” Mitaka scolded. “I think it’s lovely.”

“That’s what you say about every one of them.” Thanisson leaned back, his brandy half drunk in one hand. “‘it’s lovely,’ ‘it’s sweet,’ ‘it’s thoughtful.’ You always compliment them, yet they haven’t even bothered to figure out your favorite kind of poem!”

“What does it matter if they write limericks or not?” Mitaka cried indignantly. “I like them all the same, no matter what kind.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe you should find out who is sending them?” Thanisson demanded.

“I _have_ but maybe they don’t want to be found…”

“Phel, use that brain of yours.” Thanisson looked at him with a lecture dancing on his lips. “If I sent anonymous poetry about love, longing, or even sex, I kriffing want them to find me. Think of it like this: if they didn’t want to be found, they never would have risked you reading them. They never would have been sent.”

“Love makes you do foolish things,” Mitaka countered. Thanisson rolled his eyes.

“As though you would know,” he scoffed. “You are as knowledgeable about love as I am skilled in poetry.”

Mitaka looked away, massaging his hands in thought as Thanisson took another sip of his brandy that hung from his fingertips lazily.

“So what does it say?” he asked. Mitaka shook his head.

“Like always, it's mine to read.”

“Killjoy,” Thanisson poked. “You talk to me about them but won’t let me read them.”

“Because all you would do is criticize it and see fault, when it’s the thought that counts.” Mitaka sighed. “Besides, they are sent to _me_. I don’t think they’re meant to be read by anyone but me _._ ”

“Fine,” his friend shrugged. “But I stand by my earlier statement; they _want_ to be found.”

The next morning, when Mitaka was shaving, he heard his datapad chirp with a new message. He paused to clean his razor while reading the notification.

His superior officer had come down with an illness, and the daily agenda needed to be collected from General Hux and distributed his section of bridge crew. He was requesting Mitaka to do this small favor, since his second in command was returning from planet-side leave in the middle of the shift.

Mitaka quickly responded, saying he was happy to do the favor.

When he finished shaving, his datapad chirped once more with the instructions sent by his superior officer. Mitaka was grateful for this. If they were not sent, then he would’ve left later, and probably would’ve been late. He double checked his appearance, before setting out.

In order for him to reach the General’s office, he had to enter through the bridge. He was expecting to see the entire area deserted, as it was normally so when it changed from “dead” shift to first shift. Perhaps a superior officer or the General would be present somewhere nearby, but otherwise it was normally empty.

So when he found General Hux on his knees behind his console with the panel taken out, he had to do a double take.

“General, Sir?” Mitaka breathed out in shock. Apparently the man was just as startled as Mitaka, because he jumped up so quickly in a panic that his foot hit the panel (which was neatly laid against the wall) and caused it to tumble over with a loud clank.

“Lieutenant!” He cried, half surprise and half…fear? No, too strong for Hux. Trepidation, probably.

“Do _not_ sneak around on people like that!” he scolded.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir!” Mitaka apologized, taking a step back. “I did not know you were there…” he trailed off as realization of the situation settled in.

“Er…I apologize for asking this, but why are you in my console, Sir?” He asked slowly. Hux’s eyes widened and his head jerked to said console as though he just saw it the first time.

“Oh I had…” Hux didn’t turn around. “…I heard that you were having problems with your console, since some of the officers mentioned you taking it apart at the start of first shift every day…I wanted to see for myself what was going on.”

Mitaka flushed red and prayed that there was not a love or (stars forbid) erotic poem wedged in the wires yet.

“Did…you find anything, Sir?” Mitaka inquired with worry. Hux turned around and handed him the tell-tale slip of paper. His stomach dropped as he took it with shaky hands.

 

 

“I found this in the wires.” Hux stated with apathy. “Have you been receiving these…whatever they are, every day?”

“M-most every day, Sir…” Mitaka admitted quietly, not able to meet Hux in the eye. “I-I can try and make them stop, if you wish.”

He could not help the disappointment in his heart that he would have to attempt to put an end to them. Leave a note for the sender to find in the same place they put them, requesting that they cease their attempts, though they were appreciated. He knew his feelings bled into his voice.

Hux waved a hand in dismissal.

“Your work has not been affected as far as I know. There’s no need for that, I think. So long as they are harmless.”

Mitaka’s eyes shot up in surprise.

“Harmless, Sir?”

“Not threatening,” he specified. He turned his head to the side a little.

“What brings you to the bridge this early?”

“My superior…” Mitaka revealed with a demure murmur. “He is ill, Sir. He asked me to collect today’s agenda for my sector.”

Hux picked up the datapad that was resting on Mitaka’s console (no doubt one of the general’s many), and flicked through the screen.

“I see. This way then,” He ordered, spinning on his heel. Mitaka followed him down the side hall and into the General’s minimalistic office.

Mitaka watched as Hux shuffled a few papers on his desk and set them aside before typing on his pad a few commands.

“I am sending these orders to your datapad for you to distribute as needed.” The general did not look up from his own pad. “Brief the second in command when he returns, and then you are relieved of this assignment.”

“Yes, Sir,” Mitaka responded. He could not help but let his eyes wander over Hux’s form. He had only seen it from a distance every now and again, but never this close before. He always seemed untouchable, but not just because of rank, but also because of how he acted.

How he watched, how he commanded, how he took control without even batting his golden eyelashes. How he walked, how he talked, how he _breathed_ was all untouchable. Unreachable. _Unfathomable_.

His gaze wandered away from Hux, desperately hoping to not to appear as though he were staring. His eyes trailed down over the desk, observing the fountain pens, the crisp sheets of paper, the spiky handwriting on the notes, the glass paperweight, the-

Mitaka barely stifled a gasp as his eyes zipped back to the papers. Though he could not read upside down, it was painfully obvious he had seen that handwriting before. How many nights did he stay up staring at those poems, reading them over and over and memorizing each letter scribed onto the sheets with such unpracticed grace? Too many to mistaken this. Regardless, he had to be sure. Slowly, he unfolded the paper he received that not but a few minutes before and read, his breath taken away.

 

_I am in love with a man called Phel,_

_With whom my mind constantly dwell,_

_I think “wouldn’t it be fine_

_Should he wish to be mine?”_

_Stars, wouldn’t it be so perfectly swell?_

 

“Lieutenant!”

Mitaka jumped in surprise at the sound of Hux’s powerful voice, his heart racing. He was quick to stuff the paper into his pocket, knowing it would get him into further trouble with the General. Then he recalled stupidly: the writer _was_ the General.

_General_ Hux _!_

“I’m sorry, Sir,” He apologized.

“Do not let me believe that you _are_ distracted by those love poems, Lieutenant.” Hux stated with seriousness. “It would not do for you to tarnish that perfect reputation.”

Mitaka would have smiled at the compliment, but his mouth ran away without his brain.

“I never said they were love poems, Sir.”

Both the General and Lieutenant reacted immediately: the former paled, the latter blushed. The air suddenly became thick with apprehension on both sides, while each party was unaware of the other’s awkwardness.

“I-I so sorry, Sir!” Mitaka broke the silence with his stuttering, and this seemed to bring the General back into motion.

“I-I was not t-trying to acc-cuse you of anything I just- I just noticed that-”

“ _Phel_.”

Mitaka choked at the sound of his name on Hux’s tongue, before lifting his eyes. Hux had a peculiar expression on his face, one that was unreadable with so many emotions streaming across his aquamarine orbs and thin mouth.

“Don’t apologize for figuring it out, Mitaka…” he murmured.

Mitaka gulped and brought out the small paper, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases he made when he accidentally crushed it into his fist when hiding it away. As he read the words over one more time, a second pair of hands framed his own, gently embracing his fingers in warmth.

“I am not accustomed to speaking my mind through spoken words without it sounding like a speech or command,” Hux admitted.

“So you wrote me poetry?” Mitaka asked, a gentle grin sneaking onto his lips. His eyes were still on their touching hands, so he could not see Hux’s small nod and intense gaze of absolute adoration.

“I hope you are not offended, Mitaka…” he uttered.

“Offended?” Mitaka cried in disbelief with a small laugh at the end. “I’m _flattered!_ ”

He looked up at Hux at last, taking in his surprised face.

“No one has _ever_ paid me such complements before! I almost thought I was invisible!”

There was a moment of silence as Hux took his words in, fully digesting them. He slowly leaned down to Mitaka’s height, hands still clasping his with the poetry of so much care and longing, hoping that his longing would soon be put to rest.

Their noses touched ever so lightly and their breaths became one, as though they could be joined with equal ease.

“Phel, I have spent hours finding words, phrases, idioms, and expressions to describe how incandescent you are to me. I can safely say there are not enough in any language to ever give justice…”

Mitaka’s would-be response was silenced by a kiss, a floating that overtook any sort of feeling that he had ever experienced before in his entire existence. He pressed back deliriously, almost worrying that any effort on his part would break the glorious spell. It didn’t; it only intensified.

Hux was the one to pull back, though he remained connected to the person of his felicity by the touch of their hands, foreheads, and noses, unable to find it within himself to part just yet.

“If you will allow me, though, I will keep trying…”

Mitaka responded to his plea with another kiss.

 


End file.
